


(11. Snow) / Baby it's cold outside

by Mothfluff



Series: GO-ctober Prompts 2019 [11]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Cold Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley hates the cold but he hates seeing his angel sad more, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 02:28:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20987327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mothfluff/pseuds/Mothfluff
Summary: My attempts at an October Challenge, basically using the original Inktober prompts for drabbles.(Each prompt will be posted as part of a series, not chapters, so I can add tags/characters/ratings/trigger warnings for each instead of the whole she-bang)Prompt 11 - SnowAziraphale was still asleep – he’d gotten quite good at it, after a lot of tempting from yours truly – or otherwise this whole business would’ve been over with thanks to a scolding stare and a ‘Don’t you dare!’. But as it stood, no one was there to stop Crowley from putting on the biggest scarf and mitten set he could find, pull a hideous beanie over his ears, and throw open the doors (only to step back immediately and swear at the sudden gust of icy wind he was faced with).They hadn’t been out for dinner, or lunch, or anything really, in weeks. Takeout deliveries and ready-made meals and magicked biscuits was all fine and dandy, and Aziraphale hadn’t said anything at all, but Crowley could see the pining in his eyes. (He knew about pining quite well, you see. He was pretty much a master of it, really.)Having his angel pining, because of him and his stupid inability to face some cold, would simply not do.





	(11. Snow) / Baby it's cold outside

The space heaters, assortment of blankets, soft knitwear and rows of teacups littered all across the bookshop were proof that after only a few years, Aziraphale was well-versed in caring for a snake-but-not-really during winter. He’d prepared, and read up on proper heat levels for reptiles, and maybe took it a tad too far when he started wrapping up Crowley wherever he sat as if he’d fall down frozen stiff if he didn’t. If the angel put his mind to something, you could be sure he would go to almost obsessive lengths to do it right, and that included caring for a snake-but-no-really whenever a cold front came around.

Crowley took it all in stride. His usual mode of hibernation simply meant hiding away in a perfectly sealed and heated modern apartment, under several layers of the finest down duvets, sleeping through the worst – not shuffling his frozen feet through a drafty bookshop. But this particular bookshop had a very, very big advantage compared to any modern flat he’d ever stayed in, which came in the shape of a very warm, very cuddly, and eternally beaming angel, as overprotective as he could be. Missing out on that for sometimes several months during English winters might have been normal before the Apocadon’t, but he felt like he was entitled to a little more comfort and a lot more Aziraphale after everything went down and their respective head-offices decided to leave them well enough alone.

So he made do with blankets, knitwear and tea, and the occasional cuddle for warmth, even if it meant dealing with an angel constantly tutting over him.

It wasn’t so much that the cold and the snow incapacitated him, he argued (with himself, sometimes). It was just that they were really quite unpleasant, and maybe a tad more difficult for him than for others. He hadn’t been a snake, proper, for millennia – the occasional shapeshifting notwithstanding – and he wasn’t exactly bound to any limitations of physical form. Both he and Aziraphale could change their body, adjust its various little troubles and requirements as they saw fit, ignore problems humans would need to deal with, such as breathing or eating or sleeping. But then again, some things just stuck, some habits were hard to break out of if you’d spent a certain amount of time in a certain body.

He had been a snake, and no matter what he did, some of that would travel with him into any configuration of limbs and body parts. So maybe there were a few more joints and vertebrae than necessary in a human body, and maybe there was a fork at the end of his tongue, and maybe the cold just had a much easier time to creep under his skin and into his bones and freeze him through and through.

None of that meant he wasn’t able to deal with it, for fuck’s sake. After facing Heaven and Hell, he wasn’t about to be beaten by a simple weather phenomenon.

All this inner arguing and ranting, just to say that he was currently getting ready to beat the hell (or heaven, or whatever) out of this annoying white wonderland outside the frosted shop windows. He would do it. He could do it. All it needed was a bit of psychological convincing for his imagination to do the rest, and maybe a few extra layers of socks and more than just one thin layer of too-tight jeans. It couldn’t be that bloody hard to go down to the shops, no matter how much snow was currently drifting down onto the already iced pavement, and no matter what Aziraphale would say if he even knew about Crowley’s plan.

Aziraphale was still asleep – he’d gotten quite good at it, after a lot of tempting from yours truly – or otherwise this whole business would’ve been over with thanks to a scolding stare and a ‘Don’t you dare!’. But as it stood, no one was there to stop Crowley from putting on the biggest scarf and mitten set he could find, pull a hideous beanie over his ears, and throw open the doors (only to step back immediately and swear at the sudden gust of icy wind he was faced with).

They hadn’t been out for dinner, or lunch, or anything really, in weeks. Takeout deliveries and ready-made meals and magicked biscuits was all fine and dandy, and Aziraphale hadn’t said anything at all, but Crowley could see the pining in his eyes. (He knew about pining quite well, you see. He was pretty much a master of it, really.)

Having his angel pining, because of him and his stupid inability to face some cold, would simply not do.

And so he trudged out into the snow, heading down towards the bakery and the rest of the shops with a determination that almost made him ignore the feeling of frostbite on his nose.

-*-

When Aziraphale woke up, he could tell pretty quickly that it was already too late to call it morning. That wasn’t so surprising to him anymore – he’d slept in once or twice before, and it only took four or five re-assurances from the demon next to him in bed that that wasn’t anything to worry about and in fact something quite a lot of humans did on their days off. What was surprising was the lack of said demon in said bed at the moment.

Crowley never got up before him. Even if he wasn’t asleep anymore, he’d still be there, cuddled up under the covers, or mostly cuddled up against Aziraphale, especially during the current cold front they’d endured for about four weeks now.

So waking up in an empty and cold bed was more than puzzling. He tiptoed across the hallway (barefoot, since the whole flat was so overheated he barely even needed his wooly pyjamas), towards the kitchen, from which he’d caught suspicious clinking and clanking noises and the occasional quiet swear.

Crowley had his back to him, working away on something or other on the counter next to the stove, on which Aziraphale saw an assortment of kitchen utensils that had barely ever seen the light of day. Before all that, the small kitchen table was all decked out in proper breakfast attire, from steaming tea pot over artfully arranged croissants in a basket to a literal spread of jams, creams and honey. It all looked rather fancy, and not too far from what they usually had at the lovely little cafe two blocks away.

Looking closer, he realised it was actually what they had the little cafe, down to the labels on the tiny marmalade pots.

“When did we get all this?”

Crowley jolted up and turned around.

“Morning, angel!”  
“Good morning.” He tiptoed over to the stove to place a kiss on the demon’s suspicously red and cold cheek. “When did we get all this? I don’t remember buying anything for home last time we went to the cafe.”

“Oh, I nipped over in the morning.” Crowley sounded nonchalant, but Aziraphale was maybe the only one in existence to hear the tiny bit of pretend in his voice. “Thought it was time we had a proper breakfast again, with croissants and all. It’s been a while.”

“You went out?”

“I also got some stuff for dinner, I mean, it’s not gonna be the Ritz, you know, but I don’t think I’m that bad of a cook, really. At least it’s not gonna be take-away again.” He wanted to turn around to clean whatever he’d been dicing off the cutting board, but Aziraphale’s grip on his arm stopped him.

“You went _out_?! In this cold?” He didn’t exactly need an answer – he could feel the clammy skin his hand had wrapped around, even through the cable-knit jumper.

“Just to the shops. And the cafe.”

“Are you mad?!” Aziraphale pulled him into an awkward embrace, his arms wrapped around Crowley’s, who couldn’t do much but grin and bear it with his hands in his pockets. “It’s freezing outside!”

“Just a bit of snow, angel. S'not that bad.” The fact that everything Aziraphale covered with his arms and chest now was cold to the touch belied that little remark.

“It’s been the coldest winter on record since-” Aziraphale tried to calm his voice before letting Crowley go and giving him a stern look over. “What were you thinking? Were you even thinking?”

“I was thinking”, Crowley answered with a sigh, trying to deflect, “that we haven’t had a proper meal, the way you like, for a bloody month now. Only because you’ve got it in your head that I might drop dead if a flake of snow touches me.”

“Are you really saying _I’m_ over-worrying?” Aziraphale pouted. “You’re ice-cold!” He grabbed Crowley’s hands, surprised the fingertips were not blue yet, considering how cold he felt.

“I’m just warming up again. It only takes a bit longer than for others, bless it.”

“Is that so? When did you get back, exactly?”

Crowley mumbled to himself, and, after another stern look from Aziraphale, sighed and gave up.

“Two hours ago.”

“Two- and you’re still- Crowley!” And he was back in a bear hug, this one a bit more comfortable, as he wrapped around his cold, thin waist.

Crowley sighed again, and buried his face against blonde curls, glad to bhide his icy hands under Aziraphale’s pyjamas.

“I just wanted to do something _niccce_.” He hissed into the hair. “You’ve been stuck inside with me for a month now.”

Aziraphale’s stern look softened as his hands rubbed along Crowley’s waist, warmth from his hand seeping into the cold skin. “I’m pretty sure I’m stuck with you forever, love. And I like it.”

“You know what I mean.” He grumbled, trying to hide the purr that was building up in his throat as the rubbing continued. “You miss the fresh croissants and the delicate dinner plates and all that.”

“We can have plenty more of those when the weather lets up. I only get one of you. It’s more than a fair trade.”

“Well, then it’s just as fair that I traded a bit of discomfort for a happy angel, isn’t it?” He picked up a croissant and held it up, the warm, buttery smell enticing Aziraphale to take a bite out of it from his hand.

“Alright, I’ll admit you’ve got a point.” He mumbled through the crumbs collecting on his mouth. “Let’s sit down and have a proper breakfast then, and after we can warm up together under the duvet.”

Crowley kissed away some of the crumbs and grinned. “I’ve still got dinner to prepare, angel. I can’t go off to bed with you just because you want to cuddle.”

“I’m _sure_ dinner can wait an hour or two for you to get back to a normal body heat. What are we having, anyway?”

“Beef stew. With ale and potato dumplings.”

Aziraphale’s eyes were glowing like they hadn’t for quite a while, before he shook his head to get back on track.

“Still. Breakfast, then bed, then dinner.”


End file.
